Thunder Showers
by Shotgunnova
Summary: Pregame fic. For the first time, a boy meets the man who would be his father.


A winter funeral was an uncomfortable hangnail, with the study's ochred clock loudly timing each and every of the minutes to. In a chair twice as big as he, the young master of the household sat stone-faced, staring up at the spry fire-cast shades pulsing on the timbered ceiling. Whether the worry had set in, no one knew for sure. Every ten minutes for the last three hours, his nurse had blocked the keyhole with her eye and spied the same sight. With much inward regret, she swiftly retreated to the fully-lit dining room where her company awaited the tidings.

"He hasn't moved a hairbreadth, sir. I worry he may be taking this very hard. With his condition, I don't know if I should be with him or let him find his own way through..." Her voice trailed off into a soft moan of fear.

The lithe-looking man at the table-end pushed his plate away from him. "Being a shut-in, this must be handled delicately. Time is the really the only remedy I can recommend. Do you think he has worsened?" Doctor Connors only asked because his stature and whiskers had frightened the boy upon the last visit, so he had opted to stay away and let the nurse relay his condition. "Thank you for dinner, as well, madam."

Jessica nodded half-heartedly at the compliment, but it only drew her away from the question momentarily. "He just...sits. He hasn't spoken to me since I told him... Oh, I worry about the poor dear, without the guiding hand of his father now. And his mother, too, Ajora be merciful. ...I'll have to get him ready soon. If you'll excuse my presence." Slightly annoyed and bothered at the news, the middle-aged woman cleared the doctor's plate and withdrew into the adjacent kitchen where her faltering could not be viewed.

As he fumbled for his pipe in his overcoat pocket and wondered if there was really anything he could do, Connors began staring at the bright portrait fixed above the mantle place, the once-happy family in all their glory. The boy was still in his swaddling clothes then, but he still had that look of dull grief about his eyes and mouth. "No father, no mother, no one at all... There's no fixing that..."

---

The soft pit-pat of chocobos was lulling the young master to sleep. As his eyes leadened, he gazed disinterestedly at the busy roadside, looking into the midtown houses as he passed – happy faces, seasonal decorations, cheer, and other places he had never visited in his lifetime. Why none of these sights stimulated him, he did not know – they were the everyday normalcy he'd plied for as best he could. Kept in the secluded manor all day dimmed his senses and energy; he couldn't prop his head on the windowsill like he used to. Bedridden, and for what? He forgot the word that was used to describe it...

Nurse Jessica watched with wary eagle eyes, making sure he wasn't being smothered under the blanket and layers of clothing.

---

Still as any, the Durai mausoleum crept up over the hilly skyline, remarkably drab in the flurrying veil of snow that had begun only moments prior. Its architecture was derivative of the gentry style, no arches or pillars adorning the building's fore, and the young master wondered if the \ivy that grew against it in the summertime had frozen in place or if the building had really begun cracking from the bottom up. Using a small sum of his energy, he pulled his wooly hat down over his black wisps but kept the cocoon of blankets locked in place . When the driver had finished wheeling the path through the whitening countryside, he reined in the chocobos and tapped thrice on the peeling, leather-stretched roof.

"We're here, ma'am," he said smoothly, like the chill he felt could easily be cured with the flask at his side. He dismounted and opened the door, but not before motioning for the young master to bundle tighter. Jessica held her black bonnet and helped lift the boy out into the driver's arms. "Thanks, Richard." The boy said nothing, as expected. The walk through the snow was a brisk one, and the cast-iron door was half-ajar, signs that the mourners who had braved the nighttime were already inside. Richard stayed behind to care for his birds, also snuffing out the interior lantern to save the wick.

---

Stone-hewn slabs covered the coffins of the boy's ancestors, and they had remained untouched and unseen for many a generation. Thrown moonlight fell among the room's residents, evidence of the disrepair the place the fell place had sustained with the passage of time. As it turns out, only one living person stood within, which unraveled the boys nerves a little as his gaze fell upon the man's armored back. It was expensive armor, too, the kind the boy had often read about when he was more eager to learn. The part that scared him was how assorted chains fell off his leggings and weapon sheath to the unseen floor, giving the appearance that was completely moored to the shadow. Jessica cradled him as the man finished reciting his silent prayer.

"Jessica, you have my condolences." He turned around to see the two, weaves of blackness racing across his face as he did. His voice was warm and strengthening, much to the boy's surprise. "If you need support of any kind, I'll gladly give any aid I can. My hearth of my House is always welcome to you both."

"Thank you, Cidolfas," she said kindly, adjusting her arms so the young master could see him clearer. "My sorrow extends to you, too. For Daniel to fall under these circumstances, it's too horrible for words, Ajora bless him. You've lost a great friend, I fear," her pitch rising a bit as she saw the truth in the words. The newly-fallen had served and died in Cidolfas' ranks, but she'd said as little on the matter as possible to avoid the already infirm boy in her care.

Growing ever sleepier, the boy had paid attention thus far. He was sick, but he wasn't sick in the head – this man before him was a great man, though which sort he did not figure. Confidence became him, and when the man's gaze finally fell on him, he could not look away.

"You must be Olan. I've heard a lot about you from Daniel."

"He's dead."

Jessica gasped, not so much as him speaking to a perfect stranger but that he was speaking. He had silenced himself more than he already did in a day's course, but he seemed to be fine, now... The bluntness with which Olan spoke seemed unbecoming a child, but in his eyes, Cidolfas' sensed no morbidity. Was he always like this?

"Aye, that he is, son." Cidolfas outstretched his arms and Jessica heaved the young boy into them, not eliciting a peep of resistance to the switch. "But you remember this: no one ever dies without reason. It may sadden you now, but it can also strengthen you. You want to grow strong, don't you?"

"Yes." In fact, that was about all he wanted to do.

"The first step towards doing anything is imagining it being done. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll be better in no time." Cidolfas' words did not trail, even as he looked to the oak box where his comrade laid and knew the ears of the dead were not deaf. "Do your father right, Olan."

Jessica walked over to the casket, peering into its depths. The top was closed, and she now noticed that along one of the edges, between the wood and stone, a second sword lay discarded. She said nothing, knowing it was no doubt the last one her employer used before—

"Shall we lie him to rest at last?"

Jessica nodded, and on her cue, Cid ducked down to the stone slab propped against Daniel's resting place. His gauntlets stuck beneath its lower edge, he lifted and pushed like a man half his age, tipping flatly onto the opening. As his father was encased in a second coffin, Olan still found his tear ducts had nothing to give.

"Ajora bless him."


End file.
